


Hammer and Chisel

by mcmanatea, mithrilbikini (liasangria), rutobuka



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dís-centric POV, Family Feels, Fluff, Frerin is alive, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, a little bit of peril followed by a daring rescue, meet-cute dwarf style, nonbinary Vili, trans Dís
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 09:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13408113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcmanatea/pseuds/mcmanatea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/liasangria/pseuds/mithrilbikini, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/pseuds/rutobuka
Summary: Important moments in the lives of Dís and Víli.





	Hammer and Chisel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HSavinien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/gifts).



“Dís, hurry up! Even Frerin is leaving you in the dust!” 

Dís made a gesture at her oldest brother’s back that she was glad her mother couldn’t see, but obligingly quickened her pace until she was but a few steps behind Frerin, who was indeed moving along at a quick clip. His prosthetic leg made a hollow, metallic ringing with each halting step; he was still not entirely used to the difference in weight between it and his remaining limb, so his steps remained uneven. Their mother claimed that the noise it produced against the stone reminded her of a bell, but Dís privately thought sounded more like a dropped horseshoe. 

Frís hadn’t slowed or looked back, and Thorin had immediately fallen into step with her, surveying all the new construction since their last tour of the eastern hall. Even Frerin, whom she could usually count on to share a laugh at their too-serious sibling’s expense, was signing questions about foliation planes to Balin. What nonsense!

She couldn’t understand why they were all rushing, anyhow. There was so much to take in...would it _kill_ them to take a moment to stop and appreciate it?

As a pebble, she hadn’t truly grasped just how much _work_ it took to hew a home from virgin stone. Many lifetimes must have been spent carving Erebor...as much good as it has done them all in the end. That cursed worm Smaug had smashed through the supposedly unbreakable defenses in mere moments, and now slept in the halls of their forefathers without a care for the unparalleled artistry and backbreaking labor of the long-dead dwarves who had fashioned them. 

But now...now she truly understood the magnitude of such an undertaking. Engineers, stonemasons, miners, laborers...Ered Luin was a hive of activity, with hammers ringing against stone all day and night, their work never ceasing for even a moment. To see such skill up close and first-hand made her heart swell with pride for the ingenuity and strength of her people. They had lost much, yes, but they had persevered and found themselves a new home, and shaped Arda herself to their needs when the other folk of the world rejected them. It sometimes seemed that the legend of the dwarves’ creation would play out over and over again until the world was remade. But just as the Seven Fathers survived Eru’s mighty wrath while his own feckless children slept, so too would the erstwhile dwarves of Erebor endure. 

Finally, the rest of the group stopped. Thorin was deep in conversation with Frís and the head foreman. Though the dwarf was directing most of his report to their mother, Thorin was nodding along quite a bit; Dís thought he was probably trying to look more knowledgeable than he actually was. Frerin and Balin were still animatedly signing, though they were ‘speaking’ too fast about subjects too specialized for her to follow. The injuries her brother had sustained at Azanulbizar that had robbed him of his leg and his voice had not dimmed his ability to talk endlessly one bit.

With no one paying her any mind for the moment, Dís felt free to wander apart from them, gazing upward in awe at the complicated web of ropes, pulleys, and harnesses that kept the dwarves above them secured at varying heights to the multitudinous stone columns of the new Keep. Some of the craftsmen were assigned to sections so elevated that it would be impossible for their handiwork to ever be seen by anyone. And yet, each of them still performed their task with the same degree of care and attention as they would have had they been carving the throne itself. The air was an echoing cacophony of shouted directions, chisels on stone, hammers on metal….the heartbeat of a dwarven home.

It was jarring, therefore, to hear a voice calling out above the din, hollering a warning as a stalactite that had been loosened by workers far above them came plummeting down with breathtaking speed.

With a warrior’s instinct, Thorin pulled Frís to her knees and threw his bulk over her smaller body, holding his ridiculous wooden shield above both their heads to protect them from smaller debris. One of the two guards that accompanied them immediately moved to protect Frerin, who had also instinctively gone to his knees, though with a bit more difficulty. Balin was the only one who remained standing, shouting at the remaining guard to protect the princess from the falling rock that was only seconds away from crushing her.

Dís could only stand frozen in horror, knowing with bone-deep certainty that the guard was too far away,  the stone was too large, and it was traveling too fast to escape from. Strident voices became muffled and then faded entirely in her ears, until she was only aware of the agonizing lurch in her chest; it was as though her heart was trying to beat a lifetime’s worth of blood in its final moment. 

She was peripherally aware of a movement that seemed, at least to her horrified consciousness, somewhat out-of-place with the helpless immobility of the dwarves watching this impending tragedy unfold. Though it felt nearly impossible to tear her eyes away from the stone hurtling toward her, she managed to wrench her gaze to the right, where a fair-haired dwarf was simultaneously rappelling downward and pushing off their column with their feet, swinging around and catching another rope that put them in the direct path of the stalactite, which was now only tens of feet above Dís’s head.

She could not spare this act of desperate and foolish bravery more than a second of gratitude before her mind shuttered everything, protecting her from her own final, agonizing end. Her head exploded in a white-hot rush, and then she knew no more.

 

* * *

 

Dying, perhaps. But certainly not there yet.

She did not attempt to move. She simply took stock of what she could from her prone position, trying to determine by feeling alone why she was not a red paste on the floor of the half-constructed Great Hall. All she could tell was that she was in her own chambers, and her head felt as though someone had taken a warhammer to it before giving the rest of her equal treatment.

She did note, rather mournfully, that her fine dress had been removed by someone — most likely the healers — leaving her torso bare. She risked a peek, not moving anything but her eyes, and saw nothing aside from a few scratches above where her neckline typically sat. Perhaps the padding she wore to fill out the gown’s bodice more attractively had protected her chest from further harm? 

Regardless of whether it was true, she thought dazedly, she would remember to tell her brothers that when they rolled their eyes at her supposed “vanity” in the future.

Speaking of her siblings...where were they? Where was <i>any</i> member of her family, in fact? Surely escaping certain death entitled her to at least one distraught relative at her bedside?

As though summoned by her pique, the bedroom door cracked open, and Frerin peeked around the corner cautiously. Seeing that she was awake, his eyes lit up, and he threw the door open wide in his haste to limp to her bedside. In the receiving room outside, she could only just hear the low murmur of other voices.

_ I’m so glad you’re awake!  _ Frerin signed excitedly.  _ Not that I doubted, of course. Óin told us that your hard head would keep your brains from being too scrambled. How do you feel? _

She wanted to shrug, but even the _thought_ of moving any part of her body was too onerous. She settled for a grunt.

“Eloquent as ever,” came a new voice. Thorin appeared in the doorway, smiling the tight little smile he used when he was worried but trying not to show it. It made him look two hundred years older. He crossed the chamber floor and sank to his knees at her side, taking one of her limp hands in his own. It hurt, but not as much as seeing the haunted shadows beneath his eyes.

“I, too, am glad to see you awake. It has been many hours.” Using his other hand, he reached out and gently brushed a stray bit of hair away from her face. She would normally never allow him to get away with such a shameless display of sentimentality without teasing him mercilessly for it, but right at this moment...she couldn’t. The guilt in his face, which he covered so poorly, was too familiar to make light of.

Also, she still wasn’t even sure she could speak yet. Her tongue, like the rest of her, felt heavy as lead.

“What…happened?” she finally croaked out. Even those two small words were exhausting.

_ You were almost crushed by a falling chunk of rock,  _ Frerin explained.  _ We thought for certain that you were done for. But right at the last second, one of the stonemasons managed to swing around and get a lucky shot with their hammer. The stone shattered, but the pieces were still heavy. Instead of being crushed beneath one  _ large  _ piece of rock, you were knocked out and buried under a bunch of smaller ones. You were concussed, but by the grace of Mahal nothing seems to be broken. _

Thorin’s hand tightened around hers, and she managed to squeeze it back weakly. If she knew her oldest brother (and she did), he was undoubtedly upset with himself for not being able to protect their mother  _ and  _ Dís at the same time. He would probably rather have been crushed beneath the rock himself than have her injured but still alive.

She cleared her throat to ask her next question, but was stopped by the arrival of Óin, followed immediately after by a dwarf that she didn’t recognize, whose arm was in a sling.

“Glad to see you awake, your highness,” the healer greeted. “Your mother sent me to tend to you.”

“The accident caused structural damage,” Thorin explained. “She must oversee the inspection and clean-up. She would rather be here, of course, but...”

“Duty calls,” Óin finished for him, and with no fanfare whatsoever the comforting presence of her brothers was waved away with an impatient hand, and Dís was being pushed, poked, prodded, and examined from every angle. This wasn’t anything new — Óin had been their personal physician since birth, so they were used to his brusque manner — but she felt self-conscious in the presence of the unknown dwarf, though they were looking respectfully at the opposite wall and not at the bed.

Still, the healer’s maneuverings, while agonizing, seemed to bring enough life back into her limbs that by the time she was released from his clutches, she felt strong enough to tug the covers awkwardly over her chest. 

Examination completed, the healer turned to Thorin (as the most senior member of the royal family) and rattled off his findings. 

“Just the same as before. No broken bones or internal bleeding that I can find, though she’ll have to be watched for the next week or so. Which she should be anyway, with the concussion. Bruises and contusions on every square inch, but otherwise as good as I’ve ever seen anyone after being buried under a pile of rubble. Nothing that rest won’t fix.”

Her brother nodded slowly. “Is there anything that can be done for the pain?”

“I can administer a poppy tincture. Give me a moment to fetch it,” he replied. He exited the room, leaving the three siblings and the still-yet-to-be-introduced dwarf, who was likely a bit overwhelmed at being in the same room with most of the royal family.

With all the will she could muster, Dís turned her head in the general direction the stranger. 

“Who are you?” she asked baldly.

The dwarf started, then fumbled a deep bow, remaining bent at the waist for much longer than was necessary for the third-in-line to the throne. They were not a noble, then. “I am Víli, heir of Januil, your highness.”

Dís waited for them to elaborate further. Frerin, seeming to sense that his sister’s usual decorum was too eroded by pain for politeness, stepped in to explain.

_ This is the dwarf that saved you. We thought you might like to meet them. _

“Ah,” she grunted. “I see.” She craned her neck a little, trying to get a better look. The dwarf was standing just at the periphery of her vision, so she could only make out the barest outline of their form. “I am sorry for my rudeness,” she addressed them haltingly. “I am not at my best. Would you mind stepping a little closer?”

They obliged, and Dís finally beheld her rescuer face-to-face.

They were not tall...perhaps an inch or two shorter than herself, pleasantly round in both face and body, with very broad shoulders and a well-endowed chest. Their hair was a deep yellow-amber, with half of it hanging freely and half pulled up into a messy bun; their beard was styled into two thick twists on either side of their mouth. An upturned nose and dark brown eyes completed the picture. They were not at all unpleasant to look at, but the flutter Dís felt in her chest could simply be due to the fact that they had rescued her in quite a dashing fashion.

Possibly. 

“Thank you Víli, heir of Januil,” she breathed. “I wish there was more I could say to express my gratitude, but I find myself at a loss. I hope that your arm isn’t paining you too much…?” She assumed the injury had been sustained while saving her, and hoped that her mother, brothers, or Balin had made sure that Víli was properly cared for before dragging them here.

“It is nothing, my lady. I’ll be back to work in no time,” they replied warmly. “I am ever at the service of my sovereigns.”

Whatever Frerin signed to Thorin behind Víli’s back earned him a punch to the arm, but Dís barely noticed because Víli was smiling at her as though the two of them were the only ones in the room. Their clear regard — whether in deference to her station or something else — was like a warm rush of good ale, spreading from her stomach all the way to her fingertips. It didn’t chase away the ache of her injuries, but it added a pleasant tingle to her nerves that almost made her forget the pain for a few brief seconds.

The moment was interrupted by Óin bustling back into the room, carrying a leather satchel that clinked softly when he set it on Dís’s bedside table. Víli stepped back from the bed until they were behind Thorin and Frerin once more, their cheeks a little pink. Frerin took them by the elbow and steered them towards the door. Dís’s eyes followed them both, and it may have been her imagination, but it seemed that Víli may have thrown one last look over their shoulder before disappearing into the receiving room.

She tried not to feel disappointed that their conversation was so brief — not even ten sentences between them! — but thanks to Víli’s heroic actions, she now had ample time to scheme up an excuse for another meeting. Perhaps even one that didn’t involve mortal peril!

The healer pulled out several glass bottles and inspected each in turn, muttering to himself. Finally he settled on two, and he poured their contents carefully into a third, empty bottle. 

“Here,” he said, thrusting the concoction at Dís with one hand while packing away his supplies with the other. “Drink all of this.” She took it gingerly, still not entirely trusting her strength. It wasn’t heavy, so she carefully lifted it to her lips and swallowed. Her face twisted at the bittersweet taste, but she knew not to complain, lest he come back with an even worse-tasting one out of spite. 

“That will get you through the night. Send for me in the morning, and I’ll make something that will ease the pain without rendering you unconscious. Good day, your highness.” He offered a short bow, then left as quickly as he had arrived, leaving Dís alone with Thorin.

She settled back onto the pillows, allowing her body to relax once more; these brief interactions had sapped what little energy she possessed. Already the poppy was doing its work, sweeping through her veins in a slow, warm wave. Her head felt light, her limbs slack. Thorin stepped closer and pulled the blanket up until it was just under her chin. 

“Thorin,” she slurred, clumsily reaching for him. “Thorin,” she repeated, with slightly more urgency. He caught her flailing hand in his own.

“What is it?” he asked, settling their hands gently on the bed but not releasing his hold.

“That dwarf. Víli. I’m going to marry them, Thorin. They saved me. They’re brave, and strong. And it’s romantic. So I’ll marry them.” She nodded decisively, sealing the deal in her own mind, but then allowed her head to fall backward. The effort of moving it anymore was too difficult. Thorin chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I don’t know, Dís. We’ll have to see if you’re worthy of them,” he teased, but she was already beyond responding, offering nothing but a protesting murmur in reply. He allowed himself one more gentle squeeze before disentangling himself from her slackened grasp. After ensuring that she was settled, he slipped out quietly, leaving her to dream of shy smiles and kind brown eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's taken us so long! We hope you like this! There's another chapter in progress, which we'll get up ASAP, but we wanted you to have a little something now because you've already been so patient <3


End file.
